You Make Me Weak (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 1)

“I do. She’d just closed up for the night. Thank God she wasn’t inside with the children. That could have been a real tragedy.”

“They lost everything. She had no insurance, no money, and they would probably have declared bankruptcy if not for the anonymous person who donated the funds to get her up and running again.” He looked at his father pointedly.

John glanced away. “Anonymous means that no one knows who the donor was. It means no one can take credit. It means everyone can take credit. No one knows who that was.”

“I do,” Hudson said, leaning forward. His chest puffed up a bit, and he clenched his hands together. “I heard you on the phone with a company from out of state. Heard you ordering the equipment. All commercial. All the best of the best.”

His father remained quiet.

“It’s no different from James Denton. You payed his hockey and football fees for years. Everybody knew it.”

John laid his head back and sighed. “His father was killed overseas. He served this country and gave the ultimate sacrifice

. I did what I could. What any man of means would do. A man should help his fellow man when he can. It’s good for the soul. Sometimes it was the only thing that soothed my pain.”

A knot formed in Hudson’s throat, and he had to work hard to clear it. “The money in my portfolio, the money from the sale of the financial branch of the business. It’s a lot, and I don’t need it. I’d like to use the money and reinvest it into this community. I want the money to matter. To make a difference.”

John turned to his son and nodded slowly. “Go on.”

“Do we still own that land along the river? By the old mill?”

“We do.”

“I’d like to buy it. I’d like to buy it and build housing specifically for people like Harry. People who under normal circumstances couldn’t afford their own home. Families who can’t afford to buy but are putting money into their landlord’s coffers instead of their own. I’d like to help them build a better life and not feel like they’re being given charity in order to get it. I’d like them to help build their own community, in any way they can. People like Harry? He can be productive. He can work. He can build his life.”

Hudson got to his feet and shoved his hands into his pants. He strolled over to the window and pretended to be interested in the view. But his mind was on the man behind him. Did his father think he was crazy?

“Nothing would make me more proud than if you did this, son.”

Hudson turned back to his father. “There’s a lot I haven’t considered, and I know a project like this won’t be a walk in the park, but I really feel we can make a difference.”

“Well, you’re right about that. If you take this on, Hudson, it’s a commitment. What about your job? What about DC?”

Hudson frowned. “I’m on leave, Dad. Eventually, I have to go back to DC. But I have time to get things up and running. Time to get things organized. And once I’m back in Washington, I’ll find a way to balance my life there and this project.”

His father seemed to be considering Hudson’s words. He slowly picked up the book and set it on the table beside his bed, his long fingers caressing the cover as he did so.

“This isn’t a book I thought I’d enjoy.”

Hudson took a few steps closer to the bed so that he could see the hardcover. “The Bronze Horseman?”

His father nodded. “A gift. From a young woman who’s come to mean a lot to me.” John looked up suddenly. “You’ve seen Rebecca?”

Startled, Hudson nodded. “Yeah. I’ve seen her.”

“You never told her about that night. Or if you did, she never said anything to me.”

Hudson sure as hell didn’t want to talk about that night. He shrugged and looked away, his reply clipped and to the point. “No. It never came up.”

A long, painful silence fell between them before John broke it. “She’s an amazing young woman. Reminds me a lot of your mother.”

Hudson’s good mood vanished, and he glared at his father, not bothering to hide the cold hint of frost that touched his words. “We’re not talking about Mom. I can’t do that with you. Not now. Maybe never.”

John looked weary and sank farther into his mattress. “I’ll donate the land. Contact Mackenzie Draper. He’s the best architect around. Talented. Hardworking. Comes highly recommended. I know the Edwards have used him for several projects, including the development across the lake.”

Hudson nodded. “I’d planned on giving him a call.”

“Good.” John attempted a smile. “Better watch out, son. You’re in danger.”